


Pfeil

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: Ginyuu Mokushiroku Meine Liebe | Meine Liebe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lui is jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pfeil

Lui has never been jealous of an inanimate object. Until now.

Heat from Naoji’s fingertips undoubtedly warms the smooth, lithe body of a flat-faced arrow. He watches the Japanese man stroke the feathered tip, load the bow, and then take aim—an embarrassing jolt of desire surges through him.

Such rapt concentration. That’s what gets to him. The sheer, single-minded, totally focused attention Naoji now pays his target, in that quiet, unassuming, blend-in-to-the-background way of his.

Lui understands the younger man’s tendency to become absorbed in whatever he’s doing. Usually Naoji reserves true obsession for him. Oh, yes, Naoji takes everything seriously, but when he looks at Lui, his gaze becomes suddenly sharp and somber, and sends a shiver down Lui's long, aristocratic, ramrod-straight spine.

It makes him feel . . . special.

Lui is used to fawning adoration, for certain, but this is different. Naoji does not fawn or flatter or even placate. Naoji sees him. Truly sees him. Admires him—without expecting admiration or understanding or affection in return. In fact, Naoji would be frightened and perhaps appalled if he knew how much Lui has come to crave his protégé’s . . . respect.

The arrow finds its mark.

These training sessions aren’t for show; Naoji sincerely attempts to master archery every day, in private, in this small woodland clearing. Kendo in the mornings before class, archery in the evenings before dinner, and water purification before bed. Lui is sure to have his calendar cleared as often as possible so that he might observe these little rituals. Unnoticed, naturally.

So that he might take in the furrowed brow. The tense shoulders that surely must ache. The slender hands. So that he can watch every flick of stray hair that escapes Naoji’s white ribbon in the lazy breeze. So that he can . . . reconnect with Naoji’s patterns, styles, paces . . . heartbeats.

Sometimes he actually finds himself breathing in synchronization with Naoji.

“Lui?” Naoji whispers softly. So softly that Lui isn’t certain if he’s being summoned or if Naoji’s simply thinking aloud, at first. “Is there something you wished to speak with me about?”

Naoji turns, his eyes closed, his face delicate, beautiful, and ridiculously serene. “You needn’t have waited this long. An interruption from you is always a welcome one.”

“Ah.” Lui curls his fingers and coughs into his fist. Naoji knew he was there the whole time; that would be the implication beneath those polite words. “I simply . . .” Why bother lying? “I wanted to look at something beautiful. Something in a single moment.”

Naoji dips his chin up and down lightly, as if he completely understands. Then those eyes open—it is quite rare for anything to capture Lui’s attention, but those eyes—he’s lost. They’re so damned serious. And sad. Unclouded.

The younger man turns back around and takes aim, inviting him with, “Would you care to join me?”

“No.” Lui moves closer despite himself, standing almost directly behind the boy, but far enough away to avoid disturbing the bow. “Watching is better.”

“Oh?”

Again, the arrow finds the target, but not the dead-center this time. Lui squints. Is his presence disturbing Naoji’s concentration? If so, he’s both sorry and thrilled at that.

“There will be no moon tonight,” Naoji murmurs.

Lui looks up at their surroundings—a sheen of orange-gold drapes atop the trees. Branches bounce lightly in the wind, the smoky scent of autumn riding its coattails.

“You miss your homeland,” he quickly deduced.

The younger man’s thumb rubs over a brittle feather as another arrow slides into place on the bow. “Not when you are with me.”

Lui cannot hide his look of surprise at this uncharacteristic admonition. Nor can he hide the fact that he is pleased. He’s glad Naoji has his back to him, yet somehow he’s sure the younger man can sense his thoughts anyway.

The quiet, gentle-looking ones almost always have dormant power, hidden potential.

Holding his breath, he steps closer to Naoji—so close that he can smell the boy’s soap, the soft, cloying scent of sweet tea, can almost feel his body heat. “Then stay by my side.” This he murmurs—no, rumbles—from somewhere deep and full of dark water. It is an order. An imperial command.

The moment he speaks, Naoji lets his arrow fly—it hits far outside the last painted ring and bounces pathetically to the ground.

Smiling, Lui steps closer, his chest pressed flush up against Naoji’s back, his chin resting a hair’s breath from the boy’s shoulder, his lips just barely touching the boy's ear. “You’ve missed your mark.”

Naoji turns his head slightly. “No. I don’t think I have.”

And the kiss is warm like a fireplace in winter, and slow like honey, sifting, and hard like marble, and softer than a bolt of silk, and his entire body is pulsing as he grips the boy’s chin and tilts his head, delving deeper, pulling him closer, the bow abandoned on the ground, arms wrapping around one another, and he’s never felt this alive, never wanted anything this much, no thoughts of duty, only of desire, and Naoji’s tongue is sliding along his, exploring in that quiet, unassuming, blend-into-the-background way, and suddenly Lui’s hands tangle into Naoji’s hair, fingers threading, grabbing fistfuls, pulling the string away, yanking back so he can break for air, so he can lave down the boy’s throat, sink his teeth into the tender junction of corded muscle between neck and shoulder that the small opening in the school uniform affords him, listening to the boy moan, clutch-clutch-clutch at him, his greedy hands sweeping the long, straight hair up and back before traveling down to grip those firm buttocks, squeezing, squeezing, rhythmic, hot, possessive, pushing their hips together, sucking hotly on Naoji’s chin, swallowing his breathy lust, letting the boy just cling to him as he guides them down to the ground, wet with green and yellow leaves, but Naoji doesn’t seem to mind, only presses up, opens his legs, begging Lui to settle in the cradle of his hips, and then there’s nothing to do but thrust, slowly he chides himself, sliding his hard cock up and down over Naoji’s equally impressive length, his right forearm sinking into the mud on the ground, a pillow for Naoji’s head, his left hand cupping the boy’s face, smoothing down his chest, sneaking between them to rub and stroke in slow, maddening circles, and it isn’t about control or power, it’s just that Naoji’s expressions are so unique, so incredibly sincere and captivating, and then he can’t wait, he draws Naoji’s thigh up over his ass and starts grinding down, Naoji’s eyes closing, head thrown back, lips cracked and bleeding in an effort not to scream, and Lui licks his mouth, licks him open and kisses him and kisses him, scraping his teeth over the slick, tender flesh of Naoji’s swollen lips, all thoughts bleeding out of him the way colors fade from fabric in the sun, which is setting, casting a purple-bruise-glow around them, distinguishing the scent of night blossoms and matching that elusive color in Naoji’s eyes, timeless and fragile as glass, staring up at him, matching him, his equal, or as close to it as possible, and his hips are snapping back and forth, he’s swallowing Naoji’s frantic moans, fingernails raking down his back, digging into the seat of his pants, making him want to rut and tear and mark and bellow in exquisite rage, and he finally lets his eyes close as he comes, comes hard, coating the inside of his expensive slacks, dimly aware of Naoji’s own release pooling, warm and wet spots of clothing beneath him, and then he’s falling, collapsing into trembling arms and he hadn’t realized he was crying . . .

“Naoji.”

Slender fingers stroke his hair off his face, and then trace the tracks of a few tears. “Lui,” the younger man breathes.

Lui knows he’s ruined now, sullied for anyone else, and that’s not what makes him unbearably sad. No. It’s the knowledge that, even though he’s desperately in love with Naoji, in the end, he’s going to leave him broken and used up, soul-sick even, as his destiny requires.

And those eyes? They see that. They see that wholly, and they more than accept, they forgive. They condone. They offer, even. He’s underestimated Naoji.

Naoji saw this coming before he did.

He gets up, adjusts his now sticky and cold pants, and offers a hand, but Naoji stands on his own. The sun is gone, heat and light evaporating quickly. Lui watches as Naoji gracefully picks up the bow and arrow and takes aim again.

“Come to dinner.” Don't leave him alone.

“In a little while,” Naoji assures, his hair falling over his face.

“It’s dark. You said yourself, no moon tonight. How can you see the target?” he asks, stalling until he can think of a safe topic.

Naoji swallows. “I’ve always been able to see clearly.”

Lui turns abruptly, his back straight, his body an intricate shell that encases the howling wind of an open sea; he’s confused and strangely soothed by these words. The storm will wait. “Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

Bull’s-eye. “In a little while, I’ll be at your side, Lui.”

It’s good enough. Lui nods and returns to Rosenstolz, even more jealous than before, the sound of arrows battering the wooden target growing softer with each weary step.

 

*Pfeil = German for "arrow"


End file.
